On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of the Hague, alwaysso lively, so neat, and so trim that one might believe everyday to be Sunday, with its shady park, with its tall trees,spreading over its Gothic houses, with its canals like largemirrors, in which its steeples and its almost Easterncupolas are reflected, -- the city of the Hague, the capitalof the Seven United Provinces, was swelling in all itsarteries with a black and red stream of hurried, panting,and restless citizens, who, with their knives in theirgirdles, muskets on their shoulders, or sticks in theirhands, were pushing on to the Buytenhof, a terrible prison,the grated windows of which are still shown, where, on thecharge of attempted murder preferred against him by thesurgeon Tyckelaer, Cornelius de Witt, the brother of theGrand Pensionary of Holland was confined.

　　If the history of that time, and especially that of the yearin the middle of which our narrative commences, were notindissolubly connected with the two names just mentioned,the few explanatory pages which we are about to add mightappear quite supererogatory; but we will, from the veryfirst, apprise the reader -- our old friend, to whom we arewont on the first page to promise amusement, and with whomwe always try to keep our word as well as is in our power --that this explanation is as indispensable to the rightunderstanding of our story as to that of the great eventitself on which it is based.

　　Cornelius de Witt, Ruart de Pulten, that is to say, wardenof the dikes, ex-burgomaster of Dort, his native town, andmember of the Assembly of the States of Holland, wasforty-nine years of age, when the Dutch people, tired of theRepublic such as John de Witt, the Grand Pensionary ofHolland, understood it, at once conceived a most violentaffection for the Stadtholderate, which had been abolishedfor ever in Holland by the "Perpetual Edict" forced by Johnde Witt upon the United Provinces.

　　As it rarely happens that public opinion, in its whimsicalflights, does not identify a principle with a man, thus thepeople saw the personification of the Republic in the twostern figures of the brothers De Witt, those Romans ofHolland, spurning to pander to the fancies of the mob, andwedding themselves with unbending fidelity to libertywithout licentiousness, and prosperity without the waste ofsuperfluity; on the other hand, the Stadtholderate recalledto the popular mind the grave and thoughtful image of theyoung Prince William of Orange.

　　The brothers De Witt humoured Louis XIV., whose moralinfluence was felt by the whole of Europe, and the pressureof whose material power Holland had been made to feel inthat marvellous campaign on the Rhine, which, in the spaceof three months, had laid the power of the United Provincesprostrate.

　　Louis XIV. had long been the enemy of the Dutch, whoinsulted or ridiculed him to their hearts' content, althoughit must be said that they generally used French refugees forthe mouthpiece of their spite. Their national pride held himup as the Mithridates of the Republic. The brothers De Witt,therefore, had to strive against a double difficulty, --against the force of national antipathy, and, besides,against the feeling of weariness which is natural to allvanquished people, when they hope that a new chief will beable to save them from ruin and shame.

　　This new chief, quite ready to appear on the politicalstage, and to measure himself against Louis XIV., howevergigantic the fortunes of the Grand Monarch loomed in thefuture, was William, Prince of Orange, son of William II.,and grandson, by his mother Henrietta Stuart, of Charles I.

　　of England. We have mentioned him before as the person bywhom the people expected to see the office of Stadtholderrestored.

　　This young man was, in 1672, twenty-two years of age. Johnde Witt, who was his tutor, had brought him up with the viewof making him a good citizen. Loving his country better thanhe did his disciple, the master had, by the Perpetual Edict,extinguished the hope which the young Prince might haveentertained of one day becoming Stadtholder. But God laughsat the presumption of man, who wants to raise and prostratethe powers on earth without consulting the King above; andthe fickleness and caprice of the Dutch combined with theterror inspired by Louis XIV., in repealing the PerpetualEdict, and re-establishing the office of Stadtholder infavour of William of Orange, for whom the hand of Providencehad traced out ulterior destinies on the hidden map of thefuture.

　　The Grand Pensionary bowed before the will of his fellowcitizens; Cornelius de Witt, however, was more obstinate,and notwithstanding all the threats of death from theOrangist rabble, who besieged him in his house at Dort, hestoutly refused to sign the act by which the office ofStadtholder was restored. Moved by the tears and entreatiesof his wife, he at last complied, only adding to hissignature the two letters V. C. (Vi Coactus), notifyingthereby that he only yielded to force.

　　It was a real miracle that on that day he escaped from thedoom intended for him.

　　John de Witt derived no advantage from his ready compliancewith the wishes of his fellow citizens. Only a few daysafter, an attempt was made to stab him, in which he wasseverely although not mortally wounded.

　　This by no means suited the views of the Orange faction. Thelife of the two brothers being a constant obstacle to theirplans, they changed their tactics, and tried to obtain bycalumny what they had not been able to effect by the aid ofthe poniard.

　　How rarely does it happen that, in the right moment, a greatman is found to head the execution of vast and nobledesigns; and for that reason, when such a providentialconcurrence of circumstances does occur, history is promptto record the name of the chosen one, and to hold him up tothe admiration of posterity. But when Satan interposes inhuman affairs to cast a shadow upon some happy existence, orto overthrow a kingdom, it seldom happens that he does notfind at his side some miserable tool, in whose ear he hasbut to whisper a word to set him at once about his task.

　　The wretched tool who was at hand to be the agent of thisdastardly plot was one Tyckelaer whom we have alreadymentioned, a surgeon by profession.

　　He lodged an information against Cornelius de Witt, settingforth that the warden -- who, as he had shown by the lettersadded to his signature, was fuming at the repeal of thePerpetual Edict -- had, from hatred against William ofOrange, hired an assassin to deliver the new Republic of itsnew Stadtholder; and he, Tyckelaer was the person thuschosen; but that, horrified at the bare idea of the actwhich he was asked to perpetrate, he had preferred rather toreveal the crime than to commit it.

　　This disclosure was, indeed, well calculated to call forth afurious outbreak among the Orange faction. The AttorneyGeneral caused, on the 16th of August, 1672, Cornelius deWitt to be arrested; and the noble brother of John de Witthad, like the vilest criminal, to undergo, in one of theapartments of the town prison, the preparatory degrees oftorture, by means of which his judges expected to force fromhim the confession of his alleged plot against William ofOrange.

　　But Cornelius was not only possessed of a great mind, butalso of a great heart. He belonged to that race of martyrswho, indissolubly wedded to their political convictions astheir ancestors were to their faith, are able to smile onpain: while being stretched on the rack, he recited with afirm voice, and scanning the lines according to measure, thefirst strophe of the "Justum ac tenacem" of Horace, and,making no confession, tired not only the strength, but eventhe fanaticism, of his executioners.

　　The judges, notwithstanding, acquitted Tyckelaer from everycharge; at the same time sentencing Cornelius to be deposedfrom all his offices and dignities; to pay all the costs ofthe trial; and to be banished from the soil of the Republicfor ever.

　　This judgment against not only an innocent, but also a greatman, was indeed some gratification to the passions of thepeople, to whose interests Cornelius de Witt had alwaysdevoted himself: but, as we shall soon see, it was notenough.

　　The Athenians, who indeed have left behind them a prettytolerable reputation for ingratitude, have in this respectto yield precedence to the Dutch. They, at least in the caseof Aristides, contented themselves with banishing him.

　　John de Witt, at the first intimation of the charge broughtagainst his brother, had resigned his office of GrandPensionary. He too received a noble recompense for hisdevotedness to the best interests of his country, takingwith him into the retirement of private life the hatred of ahost of enemies, and the fresh scars of wounds inflicted byassassins, only too often the sole guerdon obtained byhonest people, who are guilty of having worked for theircountry, and of having forgotten their own privateinterests.

　　In the meanwhile William of Orange urged on the course ofevents by every means in his power, eagerly waiting for thetime when the people, by whom he was idolised, should havemade of the bodies of the brothers the two steps over whichhe might ascend to the chair of Stadtholder.

　　Thus, then, on the 20th of August, 1672, as we have alreadystated in the beginning of this chapter, the whole town wascrowding towards the Buytenhof, to witness the departure ofCornelius de Witt from prison, as he was going to exile; andto see what traces the torture of the rack had left on thenoble frame of the man who knew his Horace so well.

　　Yet all this multitude was not crowding to the Buytenhofwith the innocent view of merely feasting their eyes withthe spectacle; there were many who went there to play anactive part in it, and to take upon themselves an officewhich they conceived had been badly filled, -- that of theexecutioner.

　　There were, indeed, others with less hostile intentions. Allthat they cared for was the spectacle, always so attractiveto the mob, whose instinctive pride is flattered by it, --the sight of greatness hurled down into the dust.

　　"Has not," they would say, "this Cornelius de Witt beenlocked up and broken by the rack? Shall we not see him pale,streaming with blood, covered with shame?" And was not thisa sweet triumph for the burghers of the Hague, whose envyeven beat that of the common rabble; a triumph in whichevery honest citizen and townsman might be expected toshare?

　　"Moreover," hinted the Orange agitators interspersed throughthe crowd, whom they hoped to manage like a sharp-edged andat the same time crushing instrument, -- "moreover, willthere not, from the Buytenhof to the gate of the town, anice little opportunity present itself to throw somehandfuls of dirt, or a few stones, at this Cornelius deWitt, who not only conferred the dignity of Stadtholder onthe Prince of Orange merely vi coactus, but who alsointended to have him assassinated?""Besides which," the fierce enemies of France chimed in, "ifthe work were done well and bravely at the Hague, Corneliuswould certainly not be allowed to go into exile, where hewill renew his intrigues with France, and live with his bigscoundrel of a brother, John, on the gold of the Marquis deLouvois."Being in such a temper, people generally will run ratherthan walk; which was the reason why the inhabitants of theHague were hurrying so fast towards the Buytenhof.

　　Honest Tyckelaer, with a heart full of spite and malice, andwith no particular plan settled in his mind, was one of theforemost, being paraded about by the Orange party like ahero of probity, national honour, and Christian charity.

　　This daring miscreant detailed, with all the embellishmentsand flourishes suggested by his base mind and his ruffianlyimagination, the attempts which he pretended Cornelius deWitt had made to corrupt him; the sums of money which werepromised, and all the diabolical stratagems plannedbeforehand to smooth for him, Tyckelaer, all thedifficulties in the path of murder.

　　And every phase of his speech, eagerly listened to by thepopulace, called forth enthusiastic cheers for the Prince ofOrange, and groans and imprecations of blind fury againstthe brothers De Witt.

　　The mob even began to vent its rage by inveighing againstthe iniquitous judges, who had allowed such a detestablecriminal as the villain Cornelius to get off so cheaply.

　　Some of the agitators whispered, "He will be off, he willescape from us!"Others replied, "A vessel is waiting for him at Schevening,a French craft. Tyckelaer has seen her.""Honest Tyckelaer! Hurrah for Tyckelaer!" the mob cried inchorus.

　　"And let us not forget," a voice exclaimed from the crowd,"that at the same time with Cornelius his brother John, whois as rascally a traitor as himself, will likewise make hisescape.""And the two rogues will in France make merry with ourmoney, with the money for our vessels, our arsenals, and ourdockyards, which they have sold to Louis XIV.""Well, then, don't let us allow them to depart!" advised oneof the patriots who had gained the start of the others.

　　"Forward to the prison, to the prison!" echoed the crowd.

　　Amid these cries, the citizens ran along faster and faster,cocking their muskets, brandishing their hatchets, andlooking death and defiance in all directions.

　　No violence, however, had as yet been committed; and thefile of horsemen who were guarding the approaches of theBuytenhof remained cool, unmoved, silent, much morethreatening in their impassibility than all this crowd ofburghers, with their cries, their agitation, and theirthreats. The men on their horses, indeed, stood like so manystatues, under the eye of their chief, Count Tilly, thecaptain of the mounted troops of the Hague, who had hissword drawn, but held it with its point downwards, in a linewith the straps of his stirrup.

　　This troop, the only defence of the prison, overawed by itsfirm attitude not only the disorderly riotous mass of thepopulace, but also the detachment of the burgher guard,which, being placed opposite the Buytenhof to support thesoldiers in keeping order, gave to the rioters the exampleof seditious cries, shouting, --"Hurrah for Orange! Down with the traitors!"The presence of Tilly and his horsemen, indeed, exercised asalutary check on these civic warriors; but by degrees theywaxed more and more angry by their own shouts, and as theywere not able to understand how any one could have couragewithout showing it by cries, they attributed the silence ofthe dragoons to pusillanimity, and advanced one step towardsthe prison, with all the turbulent mob following in theirwake.

　　In this moment, Count Tilly rode forth towards themsingle-handed, merely lifting his sword and contracting hisbrow whilst he addressed them: --"Well, gentlemen of the burgher guard, what are youadvancing for, and what do you wish?"The burghers shook their muskets, repeating their cry, --"Hurrah for Orange! Death to the traitors!""'Hurrah for Orange!' all well and good!" replied Tilly,"although I certainly am more partial to happy faces than togloomy ones. 'Death to the traitors!' as much of it as youlike, as long as you show your wishes only by cries. But, asto putting them to death in good earnest, I am here toprevent that, and I shall prevent it."Then, turning round to his men, he gave the word of command,--"Soldiers, ready!"The troopers obeyed orders with a precision whichimmediately caused the burgher guard and the people to fallback, in a degree of confusion which excited the smile ofthe cavalry officer.

　　"Holloa!" he exclaimed, with that bantering tone which ispeculiar to men of his profession; "be easy, gentlemen, mysoldiers will not fire a shot; but, on the other hand, youwill not advance by one step towards the prison.""And do you know, sir, that we have muskets?" roared thecommandant of the burghers.

　　"I must know it, by Jove, you have made them glitter enoughbefore my eyes; but I beg you to observe also that we on ourside have pistols, that the pistol carries admirably to adistance of fifty yards, and that you are only twenty-fivefrom us.""Death to the traitors!" cried the exasperated burghers.

　　"Go along with you," growled the officer, "you always crythe same thing over again. It is very tiresome."With this, he took his post at the head of his troops,whilst the tumult grew fiercer and fiercer about theBuytenhof.

　　And yet the fuming crowd did not know that, at that verymoment when they were tracking the scent of one of theirvictims, the other, as if hurrying to meet his fate, passed,at a distance of not more than a hundred yards, behind thegroups of people and the dragoons, to betake himself to theBuytenhof.

　　John de Witt, indeed, had alighted from his coach with hisservant, and quietly walked across the courtyard of theprison.

　　Mentioning his name to the turnkey, who however knew him, hesaid, --"Good morning, Gryphus; I am coming to take away my brother,who, as you know, is condemned to exile, and to carry himout of the town."Whereupon the jailer, a sort of bear, trained to lock andunlock the gates of the prison, had greeted him and admittedhim into the building, the doors of which were immediatelyclosed again.

　　Ten yards farther on, John de Witt met a lovely young girl,of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in the nationalcostume of the Frisian women, who, with pretty demureness,dropped a curtesy to him. Chucking her under the chin, hesaid to her, --"Good morning, my good and fair Rosa; how is my brother?""Oh, Mynheer John!" the young girl replied, "I am not afraidof the harm which has been done to him. That's all overnow.""But what is it you are afraid of?""I am afraid of the harm which they are going to do to him.""Oh, yes," said De Witt, "you mean to speak of the peopledown below, don't you?""Do you hear them?""They are indeed in a state of great excitement; but whenthey see us perhaps they will grow calmer, as we have neverdone them anything but good.""That's unfortunately no reason, except for the contrary,"muttered the girl, as, on an imperative sign from herfather, she withdrew.

　　"Indeed, child, what you say is only too true."Then, in pursuing his way, he said to himself, --"Here is a damsel who very likely does not know how to read,who consequently has never read anything, and yet with oneword she has just told the whole history of the world."And with the same calm mien, but more melancholy than he hadbeen on entering the prison, the Grand Pensionary proceededtowards the cell of his brother.